


An Old Paul Fic

by sherlocked221



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 20:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked221/pseuds/sherlocked221
Summary: "Paul comes home after a concert, his blazer slung over his arm and white shirt sleeves with their cufflinks undone, rolled up to mid arm. A light dusting of soft, brown hair follows the curve of his bared arms, which is just beautiful, framed by the thin fabric of his shirt. Sweat glistens on his forehead and his thin hair is mussed all which way; he looks like a proper rock star, a real icon without a care in the world.He is all of that, and he’s all yours. "After hearing complaints that there aren't any old Paul fics out there, I wrote this one to satisfy some fans of Sir Paul McCartneyAnd it kind of turned into some weird pet/BDSM thing... that probably satisfies myself more than anyone else...





	An Old Paul Fic

**Author's Note:**

> This got posted on that epic Tumblr blog InBedWithTheBeatles. I'm so proud!

Paul comes home after a concert, his blazer slung over his arm and white shirt sleeves with their cufflinks undone, rolled up to mid arm. A light dusting of soft, brown hair follows the curve of his bared arms, which is just beautiful, framed by the thin fabric of his shirt. Sweat glistens on his forehead and his thin hair is mussed all which way; he looks like a proper rock star, a real icon without a care in the world.  

He is all of that, and he’s all yours. 

You were laying in the dark house, curled up on your pillow in the living room. It had been getting late, getting very late, and you were feeling a bit lonely. After all, Paul had been out practically all day preparing for this concert. The last glimpse you got of him was him kissing you goodbye as he was dressing, with a promise to be back before our asleep. You were starting to doubt if that would be true or not, because you were slowly falling into a half asleep daze, eyes open but seeing nothing. Still, as long as you weren’t physically falling unconscious, you didn’t mind. You were heart set on being the first sight Paul saw as soon as he came through the door, you’d been dreaming of running to him with open arms and kissing the lips you’d missed all day. As long as you could hear him come in, you didn’t mind if your sight was slowly starting to blur or eyelids close. 

Then you hear a key rattling in the front door. Street lamps from outside throws beams into the reception room, lighting the way for familiar footsteps to walk in, like a silver carpet. You move as though you’d been sitting awake, full of caffeine or on a serious sugar high and ambush him with a hug against the now closed front door. He loses his footing a bit, but laughs, pressing his lips against your hair once he’s regained stability 

“Missed me much?” He chuckles, placing his free hand on the back of your neck. His thumb rubs that spot just under your skull that makes you sigh, you’ve missed him so much. To reply to him, you grasp onto the back of his shirt and pull hard so that your bodies could not get any closer, not even if they tried. You nuzzle into his chest, mindful of his suspenders that you love seeing hugging that handsome body.    
“Come on sweetheart,” He says with a gentle tap on your back, “Let me get settled before you jump on me.”  

You know what he means, so you slowly drag away from him, then follow him into the living room. He tosses his blazer over the back of the sofa and asks you to get him a drink. You feel like pandering to his every need today, you haven’t had the chance to get bored of it today, so you potter off into the kitchen, watching him from the doorway as he unbuttons his shirt a little further. You can’t help but watch, licking your lips at the thought of bared chest.  

When you come back in, settling his drink on the coffee table, you kneel between his legs and rest your head on his thigh. He places his hand beside your head and you move into it, allowing his fingers to knot into your hair.  

“How did it go tonight?” You ask.  

“Well, very well.” He replies, then asks you to hand him his drink. You do so with a cheeky smile. 

“What songs did you play.?”  

He grins against the rim of his glass, “Your favourite…” He hums.  

“Lady Madonna! Oh I wish I had been there!” You gasp, taking back his glass and setting it on the table without taking your eyes off him. He has such pretty eyes, round and wide, long eyelashes, always a smile in them. You turn your head upwards until you can see his hand- because you get as much pleasure looking at those as you do looking into his eyes- then you snatch a finger between your teeth, giving him a playful bite.  

“Oi!” He exclaims, but you know you haven’t hurt him, “I know, I know what you’re after, but can’t I just catch my breath?  Hm?” He’s still smiling, so you’re sure he doesn’t really mind, “I have been working all day, you know.” 

You pout, letting his finger go, but you further hint to him that you’re ‘ready when he is’ by playing with the leg of his trousers. You run your own fingertip up his calf and make circles just beneath the back of his knee. You stick out your bottom lip and cock your head to the side. You’re pulling out all the puppy-dog eyes and pleading gazes you can muster until he gives in.  

“Alright, Christ!” He says, fiddling with the zipper of his fly to bring out his member. Before he can even fully free it, you’ve taken over and closed your mouth around it. This sudden action brings forth a groan from him and his hands clench, then relax on his lap beside your head. As you suck, they then fall to the seat of the sofa and ball up with bits of fabric caught between his nails and palms. However, you look up at him and see him looking back down at you, taking in the filthy sight. 

You are not satisfied with what you see. You want him to be so lost in pleasure that he cannot look at you anymore. You want his head flung onto the back pillows on the sofa and desperate moans to spill from his mouth as he spills into yours.  

You flick your tongue over the tip while your hand runs up and twists skilfully at the top. You then take him in again, as far as you can go without choking and listen to him grunt. After a little while of torturing him like that, he stops you. 

“Now, now. If you want this from me, I want something from you.” He lifts up your chin with his index finger, “Come up here.”  

You stand up and follow his guidance. He wants you straddling his lap, but he first rides your mini skirt up to your hips to feel how ready you are for him. You moan at his touch and see him smile. He then makes you sit on top of him, and he thrusts into you. His hands go from your thighs to your hips to your breasts and to your neck and back down again. Then he leans forward to kiss and lick each breast, biting your nipples to make you yelp while planting his palms against your back to keep you close.  

“Ah Paul!” You cry as your hips snap forward, but he steals any other words from you by occupying your mouth with his. When he lets you have your lips back, he’s so close and you can feel him getting significantly faster, using up all that energy left after the concert, all for you. You’re close too and he’s not letting you have any moment to process whats going on. His hands are everywhere, rubbing, pinching, feathering all over the right places. You climax and bury your moans in his shoulder, digging your nails into his chest and upper arm, which he doesn’t seem to care about. He’s too far gone to care. With a curse or two under his laboured breath he falls over the end and climaxes into you, calling your name.  

Then all is silent save for ragged breathing. Suddenly the room feels empty and too cold. You curl up on Paul’s lap with a smile you cannot remove from your face and feel him hold you. 

“Darling,” He whispers, lovingly, “I need to have a shower, and perhaps get some kind of food in me. Do you think you could let me up.” Reluctantly, you do so and watch him head to the kitchen to see what food you have in. You hope he cooks first, so that he might be all good for a round two in the shower afterwards.  

His glowing grin tells you he’s thinking exactly the same thing.  


End file.
